• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 03
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Daughters of the Northern Isles

m o t h e r
my babes     
flower like paper                  throw your tresses,as buried trenches,
water your thick vines    washed on shore
upon dandelions;  high end
olive; hook, line, sinker          oil and candle fat dwindles,don’t blubber
whiskey on whiskers     coat of
merlot,stitched with tales webbed in lies,
trinket skies in your eyes,don’t fall                   you did

f i s h e r m a n ’ s    t a i l
sauteed aut sherry,candles merry    carnal hunger
but not for lust,no,      for blood beyond the bone
your being is pennied,cold and copper                  missed pinniped
behind truth of greed you find           absence,absinthe
fell into          something sloe              blackthorn
steal from the world                you only love
your babes                        and perhaps
your sea

h o m e
at last